


Delicacy

by cantadora_09



Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: AU, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23837905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantadora_09/pseuds/cantadora_09
Summary: Dracula and Agatha are locked together in a small house in the middle of the forest. What will happen and how will it affect their relationship?
Relationships: Geth - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Delicacy

There was so much snow that Agatha seemed to have lost the feeling of top and bottom. Large flakes swirled in the air, connecting, weaving, turning into thin white threads. They descended from heaven and stretched toward him from the earth. Stopping, Agatha squinted and threw back her head. Thousands of icy needles dug into her skin immediately. Turning away, she covered her face with a hood and ordered herself not to panic.

She was not in such distress. Agatha grunted – she was just alone in the middle of the Transylvanian forest, strayed from the road and knee-deep in the snow.

There is absolutely nothing to worry about.

Swinging from another gust of wind and deciding that it would be foolish to turn into a statue from the ice after such a long journey, Agatha pulled her hood down and stepped forward.

She didn't remember how she got to that house. She did not remember at all and was not sure whether the house was there. The golden glow in the windows could be just a dreaming oasis, a waking dream. Once upon a time, Agatha read about travelers, who crossed deserts. That books told about oases. Shaking her head, she tried to throw off her numbness and, falling with every step in the snow, went to the door, which was half-swept.

Agatha hit the door with all her might with her fist several times, then buried her forehead in it and settled in soft, crisp snow.

“Agatha, it’s more difficult to get rid of you than of hay fever,” was heard from above, and then she was dragged inside.

***

Agatha sat in a chair by the fireplace, banging her teeth and holding out her numb hands to the fire.

“Drink,” a cup of hot tea sprang up in front of her nose. Agatha raised her head. “This is not poison, do not flatter yourself. Besides, if I wanted to poison you, I would have done it earlier. I had a ton of opportunities.” Dracula's voice sounded annoyed. “Drink, your pneumonia may be about to begin.”

Without a word, Agatha took a cup and made a few greedy sips.

Feeling heat slowly spreading over her body, she leaned back in her chair and allowed herself to cover her eyes.

“What are you doing here, Agatha?” a new question was raised with sincere curiosity.

Opening her eyes, Agatha looked tiredly at Dracula, who sat in a chair opposite and staring at her.

“I wouldn't let you reach London,” she said.

“Oh, I see, my chances now are totally done,” Dracula held out, “I am in despair.”

Agatha stared angrily at him over the cup.

“Why don't you…”

“How did you find me?”

“Well, that wasn't a big deal,” Agatha shrugged. The heat from the fireplace, along with hot tea, completely melted the excruciating cold, and she felt herself starting to fall asleep.

“When I woke up... at the convent and realized that you were gone, I immediately went to Bistritz. I have a friend in the port, he told me that only one ship is leaving for London in the near future.”

“ _Demeter_.”

Agatha shook her head, agreeing, and took another sip.

“The captain recognized you from my description. You were going to travel under your real name,” she said in an unbelieving tone.

Dracula smiled.

“Why not?”

Agatha made a skeptical grimace.

“There were just a few days to leave, so I concluded that you probably stayed in one of the Bistritz's hotels.”

“I hate the hotels.”

Agatha nodded.

“It became clear almost immediately. But in that case – where could you go? You have no friends in the city, besides, I don’t think you would like to be noticed.” She grabbed the cup with her fingers. “Returning to the castle is also not an option: it is at least eight hours before it, even if you change horses twice – you might not have time before sunrise. So – somewhere in the forest.”

“Not bad,” said Dracula.

Agatha smiled absently.

“But in order to come here, and so quickly... I know, I know, you burned with righteous anger and dreamed of destroying me,” he said, seeing her eyes darken, “...you should be sure that I am here and that exactly is me – how did you find out?”

“I bribed the huntsman,” she shrugged again.

“I should have eaten him,” Dracula grinned.

“And to remain without communication with the outside world?” Agatha raised an eyebrow.

“Your rationality is charming,” Dracula smiled again. “I understand correctly,” he added, looking around as if searching for something, “that you lost your bag of weapons and provisions in the forest?”

“Yes,” Agatha said dejectedly.

“You lost to nature itself. Don’t be upset,” he looked at her, clasped his hands, and laid his chin on them.

“Why did you let me in?” asked Agatha.

“Would you prefer to have stayed there?”

She averted her eyes.

She would have preferred never to know him, she wanted to say – or should she say so? It seemed right, and at the same time, somehow... childish. Suddenly tears rolled up. Holding her arms around her shoulders, Agatha squinted. How embarrassing. And how ridiculous.

“There's only one room upstairs,” she heard Dracula's voice. “The huntsman is miser: he took crazy money for this shack. But for want of something better, one has to be content with what he has.”

Agatha opened her eyes and forced herself to look at the count.

“I sleep in a box, so the bedroom is yours,” he said dryly, got up, and went out.

For a while, Agatha sat looking at the fire blazing in the fireplace, and then got up and wandered upstairs.

***

After a sleepless night, she slept all day. Going to the window and making sure that there was still a blizzard outside the walls of the house, she went down to the kitchen and began to peer into the numerous drawers and cabinets, hoping to find something edible in them.

“The basement is full of provisions,” she heard, opening the next door. Agatha emerged from the cabinet. “The huntsman, at least, swore that his pantries were always full,” the count stood at the door, arms crossed. “You are lucky – there is no one to compete for it.”

Hardly refraining from caustic remarks about her luck, Agatha nodded and headed for the cellar door.

Perhaps a huntsman is a miser, but he knows about food, she thought after half an hour, chewing appetizing pork ham and sumptuous homemade cheese. She did not suspect that she was so hungry.

“What will you do then?” arriving at the kitchen door, asked Dracula. “Would you try to convert me to your faith? Or will you tear the floorboard,” he tapped the wooden floor, “and still try to use brute force? Oh no, oak floorboards,” striking once more and listening to the sound, he held out with regret. “So what?”

Agatha got up from the table and took a can of tea mixture from one of the nearest shelves. Making tea always reassured her.

“Why did you let me leave?” not turning to him, she said, pouring the mixture into a teapot.

“Sorry?”

She turned around.

“You let me leave. I remember that quite clearly. You agreed not to touch Mina if I let you… Why didn't you kill me?”

“You weren’t tasty enough,” he looked mockingly.

Agatha nodded.

“Maybe. But I am the witness at the same time. I am the one who could tell people about what you have done. I am well known in the city. Known and respected. I…”

“Why, then, didn’t you collect respectable squires, equipping them with stakes like your nuns, and not take them with you?” his gaze was calm and sharp.

She turned away.

“I don't know,” said after a few seconds of silence.

“Well, I don’t know either,” he said briefly. “Don't offer me tea, you know that I do not drink, – neither tea, nor wine, nor whiskey,” he added sharply. “I wish you a good evening.”

The kitchen door slammed behind him.

Agatha furiously threw an empty cup at the wall.

***

The days dragged on painfully long, and an endless white haze seemed to hang outside the windows. Agatha could not remember that it had snowed so long in her life. In desperation, after a couple of futile attempts to open the door that seemed to have been brought up to the top, she suspected Dracula's intention in this – she read about something similar in vampire stories – but the count only snorted skeptically at the suggestion made by her.

“It's enough fog to cover the sunlight,” he said, “and if you didn't notice, I'm locked here just as you are. I could, of course, go outside,” Dracula smiled thoughtfully, “but to walk the path through the forest to the city in the guise of a wolf does not seem a good idea. I'd better wait for spring.”

Yeah, if this continues further, they both threaten to wait for it here, Agatha mused angrily, wandering around the house and trying to occupy herself with something. There were no books there, she did not like to cook, and sitting by the window made her sad.

She hadn't noticed, when she started to speak with Dracula. Do not snap, exchanging a couple of angry words, colliding in the living room or in the kitchen, and not trying to cheat each other. Apparently, he began to be seriously annoyed by the silence, which, like fluffy cotton wool, enveloped this small house. However, Dracula must be accustomed to silence, she thought, which does not mean that he likes it.

In a strange way, these conversations seemed familiar. Like the whole situation as well – a small room, shelves with some barrels, jugs and old cups, there are two of them, and they talk...

They talk about books. Dracula claimed that he loved stories – for some reason this did not surprise her; among his favorite authors were Calderon, Lope de Vega, and Tirso de Molina. According to the count, he personally knew the last one, and in 1630 de Molina even presented him with the first edition of one of his books – with a dedication inscription. “He was glorious,” Dracula smiled idly, noticing her inquiringly raised eyebrows, “I'm sure you would have liked him.” When asked why he only grinned mysteriously and answered: "He had a special taste for life." Agatha chose not to go into details. But she liked several poetic passages, read by heart by the count, and so a comedy retold from memory – about a noble lady entangled in her own lies. In any case, they were funny.

Somewhere between the exquisite lines and two cups of fragrant tea, she talked about how she found herself in a convent – after the quiet owner of a hardware store, whom she married to save her family from bankruptcy, died of typhoid and his older brother just kicked her out of the house. The new marriage was slightly better than the old one, Agatha said indifferently, unwittingly expecting another stream of ridicule from Dracula, but it did not follow. “There's a joy for the afflicted – a ray of hope,”* he quoted and started talking about something else.

“You should have sailed to England tomorrow,” Agatha said one evening when they were sitting alone by the fireplace. Chess was discovered in Dracula's luggage, but it seemed that there weren’t enough pieces in the set.

“The day before yesterday,” Dracula answered, placing the black pawns and taking the knight out of the box.

“Yes,” Agatha agreed, casting a thoughtful glance out the window. “This storm is terrible,” she sighed. “Everything merged into some kind of white haze. Everything is mixed up. Like it's one endless day.”

“Or an endless night. And you are with the losers again,” Dracula smiled.

“What?” Agatha did not understand.

“Never mind.”

“All the pieces are here,” Agatha said, taking a short look at the board. She decided not to spoil her mood, trying to figure out what he had in mind. It is possible that nothing – and just teases her. “I start.”

Dracula made an inviting gesture.

She won four games in a row. And lost two ones. The ratio of victories and defeats amazed pride, but for some reason did not please. Perhaps...

“You behave strangely,” she said, moving the queen.

“Stranger than usual?” he moved the pawn and defended the rook.

“If I may say so,” Agatha squinted at him. “And you never tried to stab me all evening.”

“Maybe I'm tired of it.”

“No, impossible,” she waved her hand. “You look exhausted, pale much more than before, and I...” She sat up abruptly. “You are hungry!”

“What a subtle observation,” Dracula snorted sarcastically. “Don't be distracted, Agatha, your left flank is on fire.”

“What is on fire, is your left flank!” Agatha got angry. She leaned back in her chair. “You did not expect to have to be here so long. Two days ago you planned to board a ship on which there must be...”

She faltered.

“Well, go on, what's your problem?” Dracula grinned.

Agatha frowned.

“On which you probably had food supplies.”

“Exactly,” he bowed his head, continuing to smile sarcastically. “And, believe me, I chose it carefully. Pity – the weather mixed the cards.”

“And how will you continue to cope?” ignoring his mocking tone, asked Agatha.

“I’ll have a meal with boars and foxes, they are in abundance here,” he drummed his fingers on the table. “It costs me nothing to open the door.”

For a while, Agatha silently examined him. He really didn’t look very healthy. And without that the pale, cheeks turned completely white, lips marked on a sharp face with a dark spot, deep shadows lay under the eyes.

Thundering on the floor with the legs of a chair, Agatha got up and went to the window. Behind the glasses, white porridge still flickered dully.

Agatha turned back to the fireplace and, unbuttoning the button, threw back the shoulder pad.

“Eat,” she said, looking to the side.

For several minutes nothing happened. Hearing the steps, she did not turn around.

“Why?” Dracula's voice was unusually serious.

She didn’t answer.

“Why, Agatha?” his fingers laid on her cheek, forcing her to raise her head.

She looked into his eyes.

“You are suffering.”

“Less than you suffered when I threatened you, less than Jonathan Harker or his fiancee, or any of those I ate or was going to eat.” He looked intently, not blinking. Agatha forced herself not to look away. “Why?” he repeated once more.

“Anyone deserves sympathy,” she answered, trying to speak with confidence. “Any creature...”

“You are lying,” he let her go and began to examine her, arms crossed over his chest.

“You too,” Agatha answered quietly. “I tried to open this door,” she said, seeing surprise flashing in his eyes. “And I couldn’t. You will succeed,” she breathed, “for sure. But you will take it off its hinges and the house will be left without a door. While you are hunting foxes and boars – which will take you four hours in such weather – attracted by the warmth and human smell, their relatives will come here. Do you often share prey?”

They looked at each other for a very long time.

“Come on,” he said finally.

Obediently, as if all her strength had been devoted to the recent struggle, Agatha went after him – from the living room to the hallway and up the stairs to the bedroom. She let him sit her on the bed and out of the corner of her eye saw him sit next to her.

“I can feel the weather,” he said quietly. Agatha turned and looked at him. “A thaw will come in two days, and it will all melt away,” he waved his hand at the gray dusk swirling outside the window. “And I can really hunt boars.”

She nodded.

He approached and bent over her.

“I'll try to be quick.”

***

The thaw lingered for a day.

Most of the snow had melted in a couple of hours, and by evening, Dracula, again unnaturally pale, opened the damp door and disappeared into the forest.

During the time that has passed since the day when Agatha offered herself to him as food, they never once remembered what had happened, as if this had never been. Nothing has changed either in her or in his behavior, except that the chess games have become longer and the conversations – shorter. Dracula looked gloomy, but she did not try to find out why – in the end, the fact that he had not bitten her to death did not mean that they had become friends, Agatha reasoned, sorting herbs in the kitchen and making mint tea.

However, she had no anxiety – perhaps because the sun finally appeared during the day, and the world outside seemed no longer monotonously empty and gray. At night, stars were even visible.

Dracula returned near the morning. Agatha sat on the carpet by the fireplace, her knees pulled up to her chin, and looked at the flame. She did not respond to the knock of the door that opened.

Behind her, steps rang out and subsided in the kitchen.

“What are you thinking about?” the aroma of nutmegs and rum tickled her nostrils.

Agatha lowered her eyes and stared at the mug of grog that had arisen in front of her.

“About who I am, after all, a hunter or a captive?” she said, looking at pieces of clove floating in a mug.

“And how did you come up with it?” Dracula settled to the right of Agatha and extended his legs to the fire.

“I could leave while you were gone,” taking a sip, Agatha held out absent-mindedly.

“That's right,” he leaned back, leaning on his elbow. “I did not lock the door and did not intend to.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.

The silence continued for several minutes.

“Who am I now?..” Agatha said quietly.

Dracula stood up and slowly pulled an empty mug from her fingers.

“You are Agatha Van Helsing,” he said, looking straight into her eyes, and pulling her to him, he kissed her.

It was strange... all of this. The taste of his lips mixed with the taste of grog. The stiffness of a linen shirt wrinkling under her arms. The strands of his hair that fell on her cheek, an incoherent whisper in a patter. To look from under half-opened eyelids at how he takes off his clothes – all without a trace, and what she expected, yes. This is completely... She's not used to it. Not that she did it too often... Decent matrons lift their skirts – and that's it.

What did she expect? In a couple of short movements, he pulls off her dress, behind the dress – her shirt, Agatha tries to protest faintly.

“I want to see you,” he pronounces clearly, moistly, into the hollow between her breasts. Agatha leans back, helpless, feeling like a fire floods her body as if it was open to the whole world.

And then comes calm and seething curiosity. He follows it, catches up, runs ahead, comes back, kindling it and indulging. Finds treasures and denotes new lands. And in this way, only his caution can compare with his recklessness.

Feeling that he was spreading her hips apart, Agatha shuddered in frustration: in her memory, all that was pleasant usually ended with it – if it was at all.

“Shhh,” she freezes at the touch of his insistent fingers, moans, and cries out, her eyes wide in amazement. Pleasure, unusual, strong, grows, pulsating, almost bordering on pain – and spills out into the sea, as in her old crazy dreams.

“Oh my God... this is... I never... never...” she whispered, catching her breath. Looking up at Dracula, she caught his pleased look.

“Your husband was an idiot,” Dracula nodded. “Let's not talk about him anymore.”

Agatha burst out laughing.

“You shameless monster.”

“Is that a compliment or a verdict of the Inquisition?”

“If you could tell them apart,” Agatha snorted. “However, I am not surprised. You have no limiting principles.” He looked at her, squinting. “No elementary decorum and rules,” she continued, feeling his arms tracing her bare shoulders. “But how could I allow myself to be so...”

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

“So... unrestrained,” she coughed, squinting at her limp body.

Dracula moved higher and looked at her for a minute, bowing his head.

“How not to remember the noble de Molina now,” he said thoughtfully, leaning on one hand and hanging over her.

“De Molina?” Agatha frowned. “In what sense?”

Dracula smiled and leaned over.

“ _My lovely prude_ ,” he whispered, kissing her behind her ear. “ _My captivating liar_ ,” he slipped his lips along her collarbone, and then lingered on her nipple. “ _My wise minx_ ,” clasping her hands clutching at his shoulders, raised them up, held her hips with open palms, bent her knees, pressed them to her chest. Another movement, continuous, long, inhale, exhale. “ _My love and mistress_.”**

Somewhere outside the window, a sound was heard – as if something had crumbled with a soft rustle. It must be remnants of snow, Agatha decided.

Spring is coming soon.

***

On a late March night, the hotel on the second floor of the _Falcon and Lion_ tavern was dark and quiet. Making his way along the corridor, the last of the regulars, who went over a little, not so much as not to stay on his own, but enough to not want on these two to drag home across the city, stopped, trying to determine where the room was, the key to which the tavern's owner gave him.

“Only for one night,” he warned, “and tomorrow, you son of a bitch, I will charge you everything that you owed me in the past two weeks, including a bunk for today.” Fairly so. The man took the key out of his pocket and moved forward along the corridor.

All the doors seemed identical, differing only in numbers, and the muffled sounds that rang from the rooms. The man listened – for the most part, it was measured snoring, less often – swearing and hoarse moans. There were only a few steps left until the room in which he was to spend the night when the corridor was announced with an angry scream.

Stopping, the man froze in place. The snoring in the rooms stood still in fear, in the room by the next two doors someone sobbed, squeaked, and coughed. An alarming silence continued for a couple of seconds, after which the scream repeated.

After hesitating, the man approached the door, from which screams were heard.

“You said you won’t get anything!” the voice sounded so clear as if its owner was standing in the middle of the corridor. “You said you agreed to follow your diet.”

“I follow,” the tone of the lady's companion was not so angry as tired and displeased. “But when I was really hungry you could not just expect from me…”

“Innkeeper lost all his ducks and hens at once,” the woman said with an icy tone. “He claims there are thieves in the neighborhood, but I'm not sure, – it is too convenient for someone.”

“Don't you think, I'd go down to hens and ducks?” There was amazement in the man's voice, sincere and even some kind of discouraged.

The woman did not back down.

“I know it's not easy for you. I understand how this is... I promised to help you, and I will help. I am sure that we can find a way to solve your problem.”

“I will not eat cattle!” the man barked. The tavern regular, who had pressed his ear to the door, recoiled, almost dropping the key and the candlestick.

“You won't have to!” the woman exclaimed. “Listen to me, you yourself said that the future lies with science, it invents incredible things. We'll figure out how to arrange for you...”

The man interrupted her.

“Why do you think we will succeed?”

“Because I have been solving puzzles all my life, and I know that there is no one for which no answer can be found,” now a smile and tenderness sounded in the woman's voice. “Just believe me and don't try to eat everything. I know you can do it.”

There was a long sigh behind the door.

“Hens and ducks were stolen by a messenger boy. He's been hanging around here for the past two weeks. This was in the newspapers – he sold drinks and meat to the head of the Bistritz-Budapest train.” Pause. “The pink color suits you.”

“Go to hell.”

The room became quiet.

A regular of the _Falcon and Lion_ tavern looked at the candle, then at the door of the room, stood still for a while, listening, and then shrugged and walked away.

You never know eccentrics on earth.

**Author's Note:**

> * Dracula quotes the line from the song of Lucia and Martha from the film "Martha the Pious" based on the play of Tirso de Molina. It is a part of the original text but is changed a little.
> 
> ** Quote from the play "Martha the Pious" in the interpretation of M. Donskoy.


End file.
